Spin
by lanesa
Summary: in real life, fairytale princesses don't always stay. [squall]


Disclaimer: Square owns all characters, places, ect. yadda, yadda…

**Spin**

Final Fantasy VIII

Over the vast expanse of the Acauld Plains, rain was falling. 

Dark rain, wet and cold and bitter; rain that blurred the pewter sky above, seeped into the empty holes left behind. 

He watched it spill into the muddy earth, and thought of the way she had twirled, barefoot, under the same grey skies. 

"Come inside," he had told her, a worried frown creasing his scar. "You're wet. You'll catch a cold." 

Her laugh tinkled, like fairy lights. "Don't be silly, Squall. It feels wonderful out here. Come on," she reached out for him, beckoning, as he stood hesitant in the doorway.

"Dance with me." She crinkled her nose in that cute way of hers _(her smile) _and he stepped out gingerly.

She smelled of roses and Rinoa _(his rinoa)_, rain plastering ebony strands to her face, and he wiped away the drops of moisture trickling into brown eyes. She grabbed his hands and spun, but his gloves were slippery with the wetness and he let go. She twirled and twirled and twirled, farther and farther away from his grasp.

Twirled so hard he lost her forever.

**

It was raining the day she left. In a way, he had known that something wasn't right. Maybe it was in the way her eyes seemed sometimes, when she thought he wasn't looking: uncertain, disbelieving, and certainly not the soft brown he had grown so accustomed to. Maybe it was the way she pulled away in the middle of the night, and how the blankets were cold on his side of the bed. Or the way her kisses seemed hollow, her touches distant. He had _known_, only he hadn't realized he'd known.  

The balcony on the second floor overlooked the quad, and on that drizzling night he was alone, stepping out for a breath of fresh air; needing a break from the stack of paperwork waiting for him in the office. There was a couple entwined on the bench shadowed in the corner, and as his eye caught the movement he stared at them curiously, wondering why they weren't in the secret area like all the others, wondering why they would want to get wet. The rain and darkness of evening obscured their faces, but he wondered why the girl seemed so familiar, until she tossed her hair, and he knew instantly that it was _her._

Ebony and silk, and he thought of all the times he had threaded his fingers through that hair, how many times he had buried his face in the sweet softness of it. He stood there for an eternity, stunned and frozen in disbelief; all the while watching, watching them.

Maybe it wasn't her, his brain cajoled. Someone who looked liked her, and an innocent mistake.       

But the gentle lilt of her sigh, tender and familiar in its agony, drove his heart to pieces. The sob he swallowed was brittle and harsh in its dryness, as finally he turned away.

He confronted her in the brightly lit hallway that led to the dorms, seething with a bitter anger that throbbed painfully over the last remnants of hope his heart still attempted to clutch. 

She saw the way rainwater ran off him in rivulets, the way his eyes were turbulent with storm, and unconsciously her fingers crept to the ring she still wore on a chain around her neck. His ring. _(grieve) _   

"Squall, I – " 

"…why?" he asked, slowly, painstakingly, feeling like he was spinning and if he were to speed up he would miss something vital; miss the last piece of the puzzle to his carefully constructed _(too perfect) _life.  Why why why why whywhywhy**why**

She gazed at him out of wide eyes, already bright with the sheen of tears. "I didn't want you to find out this way, not like this. I-I was going to tell you sooner…it was just that…"

He looked at her steadily, amazed at the way he still remembered how to don the mask of stoic silence he had once worn so readily. _But she had changed all of that, hadn't she_, his heart reminded, and cried. 

"People change, Squall, please understand that, and you were so cold, and it took too much out of me to get you to open up, and I needed someone open, someone who would understand me and I just – I mean I couldn't – I'm sorry, Squall. I'm so so sorry. It wasn't you, I loved you. I _loved_ you." 

_(so cold. so cold. so cold. so cold. so cold. so cold so cold so cold) _

_If you loved me, you wouldn't have done this, you lying scheming bitch_, he wanted to yell, but she looked so vulnerable standing there, tears streaking down her cheeks, that he wasn't sure if he wanted to reach out and kiss her or strike her with his bare hands. 

"Squall – " she touched his arm, and even through the thick fabric of his jacket he could feel the burn, and flinched. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she sobbed, the rainwater puddled at her feet now brutish and tainted with its deceit. 

His knees felt weak, and he struggled to stand, to conceal the emotions she had ravished within him. The rattling in his throat grew keener, clawing and scrabbling at his chest, and if he so much as opened his mouth he was afraid he would purge all that was bottled up inside. 

"I'm sorry, sorry, sorry, Squall."

The refrain echoed in his mind, pounding into his ears until he lashed out and grabbed her arm as tightly as he could.   

"Stop. Saying. My. Name," he ground out, feeling the life draining out of his body. _sorry sorry sorry sorry sorrysorrysorrysorr_  

Wordlessly, she tried to pry his fingers off her arm. A sudden thought struck him and he gripped her arm more forcefully. She winced with the pain, but no sound escaped her lips.

"Who is it?" he hissed, as his hand shook with renewed fury. He thought of the man with her on the bench, tried to recall the face he couldn't see. "Is it Seifer?" But then he remembered Seifer, in the secret area, with Quistis Trepe wrapped intimately within the circle of his arms. 

"Irvine? Zell?" He rasped out the names, forgetting Selphie, forgetting the library girl, and all the time she shook her head, _no_; crying. 

"Who is it?!" he shouted in her face, desperate. "Tell me!"

When she refused to speak, he let go abruptly, staring mutely at her while she studied the tops of her boots. 

"How long, then?" His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. "At least tell me how _fucking_ long."

"Squall, no – " 

"Don't." World-weary, he turned away. "Go. Just go."

Silently, she made as if to move, but hesitated for the briefest instant. Her hands slid up to unclasp something around her neck, and she held it out to him. His gaze fell upon her upturned palm. 

His ring. 

When he made no move take it, her hand wavered, fingers closing upon the metal band. 

"Don't come back," he pleaded, lips barely moving, though he wasn't sure if she could hear him. He gazed at the tears streaked across her cheeks, and wondered dully how she _(she!) _could cry.  

This time it was she who turned away, and in a movement so deft it was imperceptible to his eyes, clouded as they were, the ring clattered from her hand to the tile at his feet. 

_(Grieve)_.

**

The cigarette flared in the evening darkness, and he marveled idly at the way it still managed to stay lit despite the falling rain. He could feel the rain trickling under his jacket, soaking his shirt and matting the fur of his collar. Shaking the hair out of his eyes, he welcomed the wetness.  

She never did like smoking, he recalled, taking a deep drag of the cigarette. Thought they would bring him to an early grave. Not that he had smoked before anyway, he reflected with a wry sense of irony. Never. Not in front of her.

He inhaled sharply, savoring the acrid taste left upon his tongue. The lights of Garden lay spread out before him, bright and yellow in their luminosity, and suddenly he was glad for the murky dimness that obscured him from prying eyes. 

What would _they_ think of him now, numb from the rain, soaked to his bones, smoking up a lung. He let out a derisive laugh as he thought of the wonderful example he was setting as Commander. Cold, stoic, _Lionhearted_ Squall, who lead the perfect life and had found his fairytale princess; the beautiful girl who had melted his walls and opened his heart, who had led him home to victory. A match made in heaven. 

Abruptly he hung his head, and the burning sensation in his eyes made him curse in rage. 

When was the last time he had cried? He couldn't remember. Never, maybe. And he wouldn't start now.

He would not let emotions overtake him. He couldn't afford to. If he succumbed, he would lose his last shred of sanity. 

He was the Lion. The Lone Wolf. He was alone and he wasn't afraid of anything. 

It was all he had left.

**

The day Laguna told him who his real father was he had sat on the beach watching the ocean, seeking to find calm in the soothing repetition of the sea, but finding no relief from the cold fury that churned within him. 

She had come after him, and as the late afternoon sun cast shadows across his face she stood before him and told him it was okay.

"No, it's not," he said, and turned away. 

She followed him. "So you have a father! You've been an orphan all your life, isn't that what you've always wanted, to find a family, to have parents —"

He whipped around to face her, breath hissing in his throat. "That's what _they_ wanted. I was fine on my own. I've always been fine on my own. My parents left me. They're dead. They're _dead, _for Hyne's sake. I don't fucking have a father. He's _dead._"

She looked taken aback, pushing a strand of hair behind her ears. "Laguna's a good guy…" 

"He left me! He didn't want me as a kid and now he comes along, ten fucking years later, and expects me to open up my arms and accept him as my father?! What kind of a 'good guy' does that?" He looked at her incredulously. 

"He didn't mean it like that…he meant well. He still loves you, Squall."

"Who are _you_ to be talking to me about fathers? You hate your own! You don't even talk to Caraway!" 

"I only thought…" She dug her toe in the sand, eyes downcast. "Just because I've made a mistake that can't be fixed doesn't mean you should do the same."

Unsure of how to respond, he let out a stream of curses. "I don't need your fucking preaching and I sure as hell don't want that bumbling idiot as my father." He slashed the air with his hand. "Why'd he have to tell me _now, _when everything was going so well. Why'd he have to fucking ruin everything?"

Seeing the helpless rage in his eyes, she reached out a hand and gently touched his shoulder. He flinched at the contact and drew away. 

Hurt by the cold rejection, her eyes widened. "You can't be alone forever, Squall. You'll break. You always need someone."    

"I don't need anyone. I've come this far on my own, haven't I?" His eyes were cold.

She took a step towards him, and he backed away. Exasperated, she erupted. "Damn you, Squall! What's wrong with you? What are you so afraid of?"

This time she grabbed hold of his jacket sleeve and stared up at him in anger, her face inches from his. "Why are you so afraid that everyone you know will leave you? It doesn't work that way. Are you afraid I'll leave you one day? That I'll run away and never return? Have a little goddamn faith for once."

He looked at her, standing there furious and lovely and beautiful, and was at a loss for words. 

"What are you so afraid of, Squall?"

When he didn't reply, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. He held her, and breathed in the scent of her hair.

_(I need you)_.   

**

_You left me anyway.  _

The cigarette had burned down, and he stubbed it out with the heel of his boot. Lighting a new one, he inhaled deeply. 

A slender hand reached out and snatched the stick away from his mouth, tossing it carelessly upon the ground. 

"Nasty habit. You should know better."

He turned around and was met by bright blue eyes, regarding him coolly from an elegant face.   

"Quistis," he acknowledged, groaning inwardly. How had _she _found him here?

"You're killing yourself, Squall." 

Reaching inside his jacket, he withdrew the half-finished packet of cigarettes and threw them on the ground. "There. Happy?" 

She fixed him with a withering look. "You know what I meant."

"Not that it's any of your business, but I do what I want with my own life." 

She snorted. "Even if it means fucking up the remainder of it."

"You know, before you started hanging around with Almasy, you actually had a sense of humor." He tried to jeer, but it came out half-heartedly.

She leaned against the balcony, arms crossed, and a faint smile flickered across her lips. He studied her, noted the casual way her hair was pulled back, the tank top that hugged her frame and the pants riding low on her hips. She looked…happy, and more content than he had ever seen her. An unreasonable anger began to flicker within the depths of his chest.

"What do you want, Quistis? If you're just out here to lecture – "

She cut him off. "Ever consider the fact that maybe I care?"

He looked surprised. "Rinoa said that once," he mused, and snapped his jaw shut, realizing he had only stabbed open another scarred wound.

A touch on his arm caused him to snap his head up, meeting azure orbs. He shifted uncomfortably, the gentle contact reminding him painfully of soft touches once exchanged so tenderly behind closed doors. Kisses, hesitant in their innocence, liquid warmth in their spreading greed. A girl who twirled and giggled, who fit into his arms like destiny, who he breathed and drank and could never get enough of.

"You've been away." She hesitated, brushing a strand of hair behind her ears. "We – we've been worried." 

"I'm fine." He shrugged, looking away from her. "Who's worrying?"

"Your friends." She rolled her eyes. "Maybe if you came out of that self-imposed self-pitying reclusive-loner mode for one second, you would actually realize that yes, you have friends, and yes, we are worried about you."

He regarded her, stormy eyes cold. "I don't need your worry. And I especially don't need _you_ to get into your nosy, overly-protective big sister mode."

Her eyes flared in anger. "You don't get it, do you? How the hell would you have gotten this far without us? How did you beat Ultimecia, how did you find your way out of Time Compression, how did you make your way back home? I'll tell you how – it's because we _all_ did it, _together_, side-by-side. You're not alone anymore, Squall, and maybe there are other people who care about you and who you're hurting."

"Who _I'm_ hurting?" His voice rose in disbelief. "You think _I'm _hurting someone."

"I know what she did to you. I know it hurts, but the pain…it stops eventually, you know. It heals." She looked at him, eyes veiled with an unknown emotion. "Soon it'll be a dull throb, a gentle reminder of the past, and then you'll find something that will mend it, someone who will smooth out the rough edges and the jagged bits left behind, and then – it'll heal. One day you'll wake up and realize that you're whole again." She looked at him, asking him to understand.

He shrugged, turned away.

She felt his withdrawal so acutely it cut through her, and she cried out.  "I don't have to do this, Squall! But I'm here, and you're there, and yet you still couldn't give a shit. Why are you so _cold_? You might as well be a fucking wall." She drew a sharp breath. "A fucking cold wall."

_(so cold. so cold. so cold. so cold.)_

There it was again, that pounding refrain. So frigid the frost roaring through his veins, slicked through and through, melted.

_(why are you so cold, Squall?) _

The air between them hung heavy and stagnant. He hissed, slow and sudden, and dropped his head between his hands. 

"Hyne, I didn't mean that, Quistis," he groaned. "It was so long ago – I didn't mean to hurt you…"

 "I know." She smiled sadly. "But you did."

"I'm sorry." 

"I forgave you a long time ago." Her laugh sounded bitter and hollow even to his ears. "People hurt each other. Sometimes they don't mean it, other times they go out of their way to cause others pain. Sometimes they don't realize they're doing it, or don't know how to stop."

Before he realized it, he had reached out, fingers resting lightly under her chin. He tilted her face up, raising her eyes to meet his. 

"I didn't know I hurt you."

Her smile was small and quiet. "I wasn't referring to myself."

She looked beautiful there, beneath the open skies, the lights of Garden playing sensually across her features and the raindrops sliding silkily down the slope of her shoulder. He wondered why he'd never noticed her before. Under the obscure shadow and heavy wetness of the evening he could almost _(pretend) _her hair was _(dark)_, eyes laughing and _(brown)_, slim and petite and gloriously his.

He reached for her, and lips brushed against hers, tender and gentle. Her eyes reflected surprise, and she jerked away.

"What – " She saw the flicker of hurt only briefly; spark and light and extinguished just as quickly from tempest eyes, and his skin was marble again, smooth and pale and unbearably opaque.  

"I can't –" She swallowed, and her voice came out as a whisper. "I loved you, Squall." She raised her eyes to meet his, steady and shining with unspoken emotion. "But you broke my heart. Someone else picked up the pieces." 

He looked away, and the silence, awkward and awful, stretched painfully between them. 

She broke it at last with a humorless laugh. "Don't kid yourself, Squall. You don't want me, you want _her_." 

Her words startled him, and he spun to face her, a rising anger simmering within the depths of his chest. "I don't _want_ – " But the words, speared on the tip of his tongue, faded away as soon as he opened his mouth. He glanced at the woman standing in front of him and shook his head, helplessly. 

"I don't know what I want." The words came out as a whisper, and he felt his face begin to burn with something remarkably akin to embarrassment at both her open rejection and his own hesitant confession. 

Quistis stood there in the rain, looking at him, and let the silence stretch on between them. The light touch of her hand upon his own was barely worth the effort to acknowledge, until she pried open his fingers and placed something cool and hard in his palm. He gazed, uncomprehending, at the smooth band of metal that was his ring.  Felt her close his fingers over it, felt her offer him a small smile.

"When you do figure out what you want, come find us." She met his eyes, steady and resolute. "We'll be here, all of us."

He watched her retreating back, waited until she had disappeared into the bright warmth of the building before he allowed his hand to fall open to reveal the ring, glinting dully in the wetness. He traced the faint outline of the emblem engraved upon the metal with a fingertip; the likeness of a roaring guardian, terrible in its beauty, awful in its power. 

Mighty because it could survive anything. Strong because it could stand alone.

Like him.          

_(Grieve.)_

But – 

**

slim arms thrown around him, petite frame pressed against his chest, as his hands wound behind her neck, sliding through silky hair, to unclasp the chain around her neck. He watched as his hands removed the ring from his own large hand and slid it gently onto the silver necklace; saw the way her eyes lit up like stars in the sky.

"Really, Squall?" Her giggle tickled his ears, her breath warm against his skin. "You're giving it to me?"

"Yeah," he replied, as he replaced the chain around her neck, closing the clasp with the utmost gentleness. "I know you have a copy, but I thought you might like the real thing better…"

He studied the ring now hung on her necklace, shining faintly from the light of the desk lamp. He reached out to touch it, biting his lip. "It might be a bit big."

She closed her hands over his. "That's okay. I'll wear it right here, over my heart." Underneath their clasped hands he could feel her heart, thumping out a firm beat, and he smiled. 

She laughed, and tightening his arms about her they fell onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and hands and a knot of kisses and slow caresses. Milky skin, ebony hair, olive eyes and perfection and her touches were sending him into an ecstasy he never wanted to wake up from.

"Squall," she cried out softly, eyes closed, as they moved together. "Squall. Let me in. Please, let me in. Let me in."

He let her murmurs wash over him, let the words crash over him, into him, and felt the walls crack, unquestionably, undeniably, absolutely. Felt the years of such careful defenses, built up over a lifetime, crumble and topple to the ground with only a soft plea from this girl who lay by his side.   

As he fell over the brink into rapture, she found her way in.

**

You found your way in, and you promised to stay. But there wasn't enough room for you to find your way back out. There wasn't enough space, amid the rubble of the shattered walls you felled with pleas and promises; there wasn't enough strength wasn't enough trust for you to make your escape, slamming your way out. There is no back door to the heart, and now there is nothing left.     

If I was strong enough, I might rebuild the walls, high enough and mighty enough (_this time),_ so that no one, _no one_, not even you, could _(ever)_ find their way back inside. But because I'm not strong enough, and because you taught me the meaning of need, there is nothing left.

There is nothing left.

**

He makes his way back to his room somehow, dripping rainwater and clutching his ring tightly in one hand. He doesn't bother to shrug himself out of his soaked clothes before he collapses facedown upon the bed, eyes clenched tightly shut. 

He loses himself within the images flickering behind his eyelids, visions tumbling by so quickly they become muddled and jumbled into a coiled, seething mass until he can no longer differentiate between memory and dreaming. 

a girl smiling beneath the raindrops. a white dress, an impeccable SeeD uniform, and twirling beneath the fireworks. grinning, finger pointed up, head cocked to the side, _(drowning)_ in the sweetness of those eyes where

was she oh godohgod let her go you meany! endless field of flowers, waving stalks a flurry of feathers I'm sorry I'm sorry sorry Squall you were

                        so cold. it wasn't you, because i loved you. why? if you come here, you'll find me. i promise.        

                                                            let me in squall please let me in

you're the best looking guy here, you're going to like me. dance with me  

            i'll be here _(forever)_

_I promise. _

_            (Rinoa)_

Under the grey skies, over the vast plains steeped in muted colors painted by the rain, he held her.  They danced and she twirled. Twirled and spun and twirled some more, farther and faster, blurry and indistinct until she spun _hard,_ one last time, out of his grasp and –__

_what are you so afraid of, squall?_

_                                    (…i'm afraid of being **alone**.)  _

– he wakes up and it is quiet, the coldness of the sheets jerking him out of the disarray that are his dreams. Eyes still filmed by sleep, her promise echoes in his ears, and he sits up and looks around, the last shreds of something that feels like hope churning through his veins.

But his bed is empty, and his hand clutches at air. The ring has slipped from his palm sometime during the night, falling to rest beneath the bed.    

His blankets are cold and the emptiness is jarring, grinding at his heart. He slides from the covers and pads to the windows, throwing open the curtains. The puddle of sunlight that comes to rest at his feet is warm and bright, so he stands there as still as he can, looking into daylight.

He is alone, but the rain has _(finally)_ stopped.  

~*~

A/N: This has been sitting in my hard drive for a while now, and I finally got around to finishing it. Understand that I wasn't trying to bash Rinoa at all, but rather trying to answer a question that had been bugging me for a while. This piece arose out of some morbid curiosity as to what would happen to Squall if Rinoa ever left him. After all the time and effort and love she poured into opening him up, cracking the walls he erected around himself, and _succeeding_ in the end, what would happen if suddenly she up and left? Life isn't perfect, and most people don't get a fairytale ending. How would Squall, brooding, tormented soul as he is, deal? Admittedly, I like to torture characters, but our reluctant hero has been through enough to warrant some hope at the end. Angsty as this was, hope you enjoyed.


End file.
